Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and stale, a palpable presence that weighed on Daniel. His limbs felt heavy, and each movement required a conscious effort. He’d barely begun sifting through his grandmother's belongings when a deep weariness had settled over him, like a shroud. This was his grandmother's house, not his; he felt strangely disconnected.

He pulled a small, battered box from a shadowy corner. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, he found a collection of his report cards. His eyes scanned the grades, the teacher's comments – all meticulously preserved. He blinked, the words blurring slightly. He felt a deep, profound sense of… something.

Then he reached the bottom of the box and felt his breath catch. There was a stack of carefully preserved kindergarten coloring pages, each one painstakingly stored. His head felt hollow. He leaned his head into the box for a moment, the world around him fading. The attic became still and quiet.